


Idyll

by fightingthecage



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Absolutely no point whatsoever, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1855687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightingthecage/pseuds/fightingthecage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean's kindness needs no reason.</p><p> </p><p>(AKA: I was determined to manage a short PWP at some point, and YAY, I did it. \o/)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idyll

 

 

This is a sight, Valjean thinks, he should create more often. It is a vague thought, floating through a haze of satisfaction and pleasure. And also, no little amusement; the type of amusement created by delight, a joyous rise of happiness that means he cannot stop his grin, and would not want to try.

‘Valjean?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Do not make me beg. It is humiliating, and means I will have to force the same of you on some other occasion.’

Valjean chuckles, and lowers his mouth to suck gently on Javert’s shoulder. It tastes of heat, and salt, and the man writhes under the pressure, his moan a soft sound that is beautiful in its need. ‘You forget,’ he murmurs, and starts his hand moving again, ‘that I have no qualms about begging for you, Javert.’

‘Yes, well-‘ the words are a gasp, almost lost under the noise of oil slicking wetly over skin, ‘we are not all so selfless.’

‘I think you are, though.’ Valjean tightens the arm around Javert’s stomach, pulling him as close as he can get him. His back is slippery with sweat, his face flushed red against the stark white pillow, his eyes closed against the pressure. His prick is rigid and straining, shining with oil, and has been for the better part of an hour. Valjean grins again, and draws his fingernail softly up the thick vein underneath, a warm feeling blooming through him at the sight of Javert’s fingers twisting in the sheet. He kisses his neck then, as if in apology, and stays close so he can breathe in the heat of his skin. ‘You are very selfless. And you say _please_ often, and there is no need to be embarrassed about it.’

‘So you say.’

He sounds very like he is close to saying it again, and Valjean laughs quietly, nuzzles behind his ear and lays a kiss on the sensitive patch he knows to be there. Javert’s muscles contract against him, his whole body a delicious mix of rigid tension and boneless pleasure, tensing and falling apart according to the speed of Valjean’s hand on his cock. It is more than beautiful. It is exquisite, and all the more so for the fact Javert rarely allows it to happen. But then, he was not given a choice this time.

‘What did I do?’

‘What do you mean?’ The palm flat on his stomach slides lower, until he can form a tight ring around the base of Javert’s erection. The man groans at once, exhaustedly, and then with an edge of hysteria as Valjean starts touching down the swollen head, so light it is barely there and all the more pleasurable for it.

‘I know…oh, for the love of _God_ , Valjean…’

His finger stills. Javert pants into the damp pillow cover, one thigh starting to tremble. ‘…when I do something you don’t like, you are all the kinder.’

Valjean snorts another laugh, and resumes his touch. He watches – they both watch; Javert cannot seem to look away – as each pearl emerges and is smeared lightly down his shaft; one by one they come, and Valjean treats them all the same. Two fingers now, a swirl over the tip, a gentle pump of his fist, and Javert is biting the pillow in an effort to…release, or control himself, it is impossible to tell. Both are disallowed, in any case.

‘You have done nothing wrong.’ His own breath is coming faster, but it is easy and free, his own arousal unfettered. Some time ago, he oiled himself and slipped between Javert’s thighs; the friction does not help him because Javert is too lost to move, and too afraid of ending this by trying. So Valjean lies still, leaning over this beautiful sight, pressed to him, holding him, making him fall apart. He is blessed; they are both blessed. He could keep him like this forever. ‘Nothing at all.’

Javert unclenches his teeth from the linen, and lies panting, his eyes once more screwed closed. ‘Did I speak too crossly to the housekeeper?’

‘Not at all. You have always been polite to her.’ He releases his tight grip, and stops stroking. Javert sags, and does not move except to breathe. Valjean kisses his shoulder again, then the juncture of his neck, and slips his hand deeper between Javert’s legs. His hole is slippery, and admits his fingers without protest. Javert is holding his breath so Valjean kisses his throat, and then his lips when a new cry rips from them. And then again, when cry turns to whimper, and he feels him trying to push back onto the intrusion. ‘Patience,’ he murmurs, sliding in, slipping out, as slowly as he can while still giving pleasure. His fingers know just where to press; they know what is too light, they know what is heavy enough to make him come in seconds. He skirts the razor-thin edge of Javert’s limit, and grins into his throat when the man starts to curse.

‘Did I…have I forgotten to do something?’

‘Javert.’ Valjean’s tone is a laughing chide, and he fastens his teeth lightly on Javert’s earlobe, gives a nip, licks it away. ‘I doubt you have forgotten a thing in your life.’

‘Your birthday? No, of course not your birthday. Your – _oh…_ ’

Valjean presses harder with his fingers, ending all speech. Javert bites on his lip so hard, Valjean is afraid it will bleed. He kisses the corner of his mouth gently, and pulls his hand away, watching him sag once more.

‘ _Please_. It aches.’

‘Yes.’ It does ache. Valjean pushes his hips forward, and draws in a breath at the flush of warm pleasure that spreads into his centre. Javert tries to squeeze his thighs together  - to help, to encourage him to move along, he does not know. It is getting harder to resist; Javert is open, sprawled against him, his cock jutting helplessly into the air. Valjean feels his breath catch in his throat, and has to press his own balls to stem the tide of desire.

‘Was it Cosette? Did I-‘

He seems as though he cannot remember anything he might have done. He manages to move for the first time in a while, his hand skittering down, shaking, to touch his own straining prick. Valjean grins again, and takes his wrist before he can reach; he presses the hand down to the bed, pushing Javert more on to his side as he does, still pressed tightly against his back.

‘No, no. Do not. Otherwise I will have to tie it to the bedframe, and we know what happens then.’

Javert makes a pained noise, and squeezes his eyes shut again. Valjean has to pause. Yes, they both know what happens then. When he ties him, Javert lasts only seconds. The memory of frenetic, desperate, overwhelming need is almost too much to take. It is almost too much now, just to think of how Javert lays himself bare, and then forces himself to be taken so hard, it is over almost before it begins.

Valjean swallows, a great gulp of air designed to calm his want, but it does not help, nothing is going to help.

‘I made a comment about the Baron. Is that it? Did she hear?’

‘Javert.’ The man’s voice is shaking. Valjean cannot stand it. He pulls his hips back, just far enough to press the blunt, leaking head of his cock against Javert’s entrance. ‘I will have to let go of your wrist. Do not touch yourself, please. Let me do it.’

Javert nods, his head a ball on a spring, no focus or thought. Valjean takes his leg; his ragged, shaking limb, and pulls it up over his hip where it lies heavy and loose, just waiting. There is a muscle twitching low in his abdomen; this, he rakes his fingernails across and then has to wait for the cry to die away. He presses his lips to the sweat on Javert’s neck, licks, sucks a gentle kiss as he pushes inside him, his chest heaving at the pressure, his bones vibrating with the desperate keen that reverberates back from Javert’s helpless body.

‘… _oh_.’

It is all he says. It is all he _can_ say. Javert takes him easily, closing around his prick, surrounding him in heat and the relief of finally giving in. Valjean presses forward until there is nowhere left to go, but cannot bring himself to move. It is exquisite, it is _always_ exquisite, and it takes a moment to realise that Javert has turned his head and is pressing fast, hot kisses to his jaw, wanting his lips but not being able to reach. Valjean turns his head, lowers it, catches his mouth and thrusts once, deeply, not allowing even a hair’s breadth between their bodies.

‘You did nothing,’ he breathes, rocking them together, feeling Javert’s fingers twine into the hand pressed to his stomach. ‘Nothing at all. I promise you. Just let me give you this.’

Javert’s tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes closed,  his breath quick and hot in the space between them. Valjean does not have time to marvel at the sight he has created. He is too far gone for that. Javert’s hand, locked around his, pushes down and he does not stop his palm sliding along the man’s wet stomach, offers no resistance as it is wrapped around his aching, exposed prick.

‘Look at me,’ he says, that is all, and he only has time to sink into lust-hazed eyes before Javert cries out again and twists against his chest, erupting over his stroking fingers in a flood of final, agonised ecstasy.

Yes, it is a beautiful sight. It is always a beautiful sight. Valjean drops his head and presses his face against Javert’s neck, pushing his own way towards heaven. Perhaps Javert _did_ make a comment about the Baron which Cosette happened to overhear, and perhaps the man does still like to think kindness is a punishment, at times. But Valjean will never ask him to apologise for being himself. He does not want him any different. As long as he is allowed to take him to their bed and make love to him until he is shaking, and lost, and nothing but the two of them exist…well, that is reason enough for this.

 


End file.
